Does It Have To Be Me?
by Anderida
Summary: "I've struggled in vain," Derek continued fervently, keeping his voice low. "My wolf will not be supressed." Final part of Trilogy, plus Epilogue. Trilogy starts with 'Does It Have To Be A Girl' then 'Does It Have To Be A Wolf' Early Season 2. Stiles/Derek. Mention of Scott, Allison, Spike, Buffy, a dog called Twinkle and Mr Darcy (yes – that Mr Darcy!).
1. Chapter 1

"I've struggled in vain," Derek continued fervently, keeping his voice low. "My wolf will not be supressed."

_Final part of the '__**Does It Have To Be …?'**__ Trilogy including a BONUS Epilogue! Will post Epilogue as 2nd Chapter soon.  
Series starts with __**Does It Have To Be A Girl? **__followed by__** Does It Have To Be A Wolf?**__ You'll get more out of this if you read the others first._

Early Season 2. Some bad language. Rated for Epilogue – which is Scott's pov. Stiles/Derek. Mention of Scott, Allison, Spike, Buffy, a dog called Twinkle and Mr Darcy (yes – that Mr Darcy!). 

_Disclaimer: Teen Wolf is not mine. Stiles and Derek do not belong to my pack but if they did, well, let's just say that they wouldn't have time to make a TV series!_

_Dedicated to those who asked for more – but for you, this trilogy would have remained a one-shot. Thank you._

* * *

**Does It Have To Be Me?**

Stiles sighed and waved his hand dispiritedly, gesturing to the Derek-shaped patch of darkness to step out of the shadows. This was getting old.

"Derek, get your arse out here. I know it's you; I saw your eyes flash. You really need to wear shades or something because light-sabres are less obvious."

Derek stepped out onto the Stilinski residence lawn, into the pale light from the street lamp just beyond the yard boundary. His face was impassive, but he made eye contact which Stiles counted as a positive.

"Jeez, Derek, you're like a season five Spike and … no wait … that would make me Buffy so … no. Anyway, I'm sure even you know that it's rude to stalk people."

Derek didn't respond, but a neighbour's small dog began yapping with the thoughtless bravado of the truly stupid. Someone called out, "Twinkle! Shuddup!" and Twinkle did, for all of five seconds, before continuing with the doggy gauntlet-throwing.

Stiles held up his hands in resignation and mumbled, "C'mon, tough guy, before Mr Shelby decides to investigate why Twinkle's got his panties in a twist." He might have seen Derek shift up an eyebrow half a hair's breadth so he explained, "Yeah, Twinkle's a 'he'. Never let your grandchildren name your new dog. I feel for him, really I do, err, the dog, not Mr Shelby, 'cause he's a dick."

Stiles ushered Derek into the house through the back door and indicated a chair at the dining table. To his surprise, Derek pulled out the chair and sat down, still watching Stiles like a hawk, or, um, a wolf, if Stiles was, you know, wolf chow.

Stiles slid into a chair opposite and met Derek's gaze.

"Wanna tell me what this is all about?" Stiles asked, without much hope of an answer, at least one that made any kind of sense. "You disappeared two weeks ago when you told me you had too many Alpha responsibilities to make good on your promise of friendship.

"I'd like to say I hadn't seen you since, but sadly you've now become a permanent fixture in my peripheral vision. The edge of the parking lot at school; the back of the unpopular stacks in the library; the alley by the grocery store; oh, and I'm pretty sure that was you at the gas station yesterday. And how no-one has challenged you when you lurk behind the bleachers, the epitome of '_stranger danger'_, I don't know."

When Derek still didn't say anything and didn't stop staring either, Stiles sighed. He stood, grabbed up the TV remote and crossed into the den to collapse on the couch. He began channel surfing without enthusiasm. On his second run through the music channels a dark figure stepped in front and wrested the remote from his hand, clicking the TV off, all in one movement.

"Dammit Derek, do those castors come as standard or did you have to send away for them?" Stiles groused.

"We should talk," the werewolf stated without emotion.

"No shit, Sherlock! Wanna start with why you're stalking me? 'Cause, I gotta tell you, that's seriously creepy, even for you."

"You're vulnerable. I have to protect you." Derek said as if it should be blatantly obvious.

"Oh-kaay ... well, that's … that's kind of insulting and offensive. Yeah, so I don't have claws and fangs and go 'woof', but look how that's working out for Twinkle. So, feel free to substitute 'human' for 'vulnerable'. As for protecting me: seriously? I've got a bodyguard now? Does that mean I can sing like Whitney Houston 'cause that'd be kinda cool, um, weird! Kinda weird! Anyway, my point is …"

"I was hoping you'd get to one eventually," Derek growled.

"My _point_ is … that I don't need or want – particularly, _want_ – protecting. Not by you, not by Scott, not by Kevin Costner."

"That's irrelevant," Derek stated, still looming over Stiles in that intimidating way that he lived and breathed.

"Irrelevant? What the …?"

Stiles raked his hands over his head and face. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach, a bit like butterflies, if butterflies were the size of hippos and his stomach lining was a trampoline; not quite nausea and not quite fear, but hugely unsettling nonetheless.

"Look, just quit following me, okay?"

"I have to protect …"

"Yeah, protect. I got that. But get your protection kicks elsewhere. Go make someone else the object of your attention. Does it have to be me?"

"You don't understand."

"You got that right. Seriously, man, you've got to stop with the stalking. You've got to leave me alone."

"I've tried," Derek mumbled.

- Wait! Mumbled? Derek mumbling?

Stiles stared up at the Alpha.

"I've struggled in vain," Derek continued fervently, keeping his voice low. "My wolf will not be supressed."

Stiles was pretty sure his eyes were out on stalks now because that so reminded him of … no! He was _so_ not allowing his brain to go down that particular mini-series rabbit hole.

"I know all the arguments against this," Derek was saying, his own eyes backlit with a red halo. "I'm an Alpha werewolf, I have a reputation and a standing to protect. Principles, standards to maintain. You are human and, well, without status."

"Oh my god, oh my god," Stiles said, aghast, as Colin Firth briefly stood in front of him, black jacket morphing into a wet shirt fleetingly. He pushed himself back into the seat in an ineffectual attempt to put more distance between him and Derek's words.

Derek remained standing stock still, arms by his side, hands tightening into fists. Stiles had the impression that Derek was struggling to contain his wolf and he shivered involuntarily as Derek continued, "I have responsibilities now. I must lead by example, never show weakness."

Then he dipped his head and spoke to the carpet, "But I must protect my pack. I must protect you."

"Okay, see, stop right there." Stiles waved a finger, latching on to the flaw in Derek's argument. "I'm not part of your pack. Not a werewolf! You got that, right? You: werewolf. Me: _human_."

"You _are_ part of my pack," Derek said quietly, sadly. "My wolf recognises you."

"That makes no sense."

"It didn't make sense to me either," Derek was still addressing the floorcovering, "but my wolf was adamant, insistent. I thought I was losing my sanity. And after finding Laura, well, I wouldn't have been surprised. Madness or not, I couldn't shake off how I felt, though I tried.

"I began researching; I scoured every book I had managed to salvage from my father's library after the fire. There was nothing concrete. Clues maybe. Inferences. Nothing that made sense.

"So I, I had to risk making contact with another pack. An old established pack. I put myself at their mercy, my life in their Alpha's hands. I was fortunate. He was lenient with me and allowed me to talk with an Omega in his pack who has knowledge of this sort of thing. I know now. I came here tonight to tell you what I learnt from the Omega."

It was the longest speech Stiles had ever heard from Derek, but he was also pretty sure it was the longest time that he himself had sat deadly still and unmoving. Not even a muscle twitch. And now he wasn't sure he if remembered how to move. He hardly remembered how to breathe anymore.

"I'll bite – and I've just got to stop saying that!" Stiles admonished. "What did the Omega say?"

Derek lifted his gaze and studied Stiles, making him feel like a bug under glass.

"I already knew," Derek said carefully, "that a werewolf mates for life. We have one true partner and can recognise our wolf mate the moment we sense them. But I had only ever heard of that happening with wolf to wolf bonding. The stories passed down tell of connections that are not realised until both parties have transformed.

"But the Omega told me of a different bond. A rare form of pairing that transcends the wolf and wholly embraces the werewolf; that is, it gives equal weight to both its human and wolf forms. It holds both in balance, making both stronger. It can only do this when paired with its mate. Its _human_ mate, so that the balance can be maintained."

Stiles blinked, his own words disintegrating and slipping away as his tongue tried to grasp them, until he managed, "Um, TMI, dude, TMI."

"The last two times we talked, this is what you wanted to know."

"Not quite. I'm guessing this isn't about Scott and Allison, is it? So why tell me?"

"Not Scott and Allison, no. This doesn't apply to them. I know you're not stupid. You know why I'm telling you."

"Screw you, Derek! No, I don't know because all you've said is that you went on a study trip and learnt about your, um, species heritage. Good for you. But how that has any relevance to the topic at hand, that is, you stalking me…" Stiles shrugged theatrically. "I'm not clairvoyant and my assumptions tend to lead to humiliation and disappointment. So, either you agree to stop stalking me and we never discuss this again, or …"

"My wolf has identified you as my mate. My human mate." Derek cut in, bleakly.

"Couldn't you have gone with option one and just agreed to stop stalking?" Stiles moaned, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head onto his hands.

And then Derek was kneeling in front of him, pulling his arms away so he had to look up, look into Derek's face, his eyes now deep red, but somehow unthreatening.

"I've had the _worst_ luck with relationships," Derek said vehemently, voice low, "so this is not easy for me. I also considered myself to be straight, and this curved ball my wolf has sent me made me think that this was some kind of avoidance because my last _girl_friend turned out to be a psychotic, amoral, manipulative bitch who wiped my family off the face of the earth because of my weakness. I have to live with that guilt every day, so maybe my wolf baulks at trusting a woman ever again.

As pain flashed across Derek's face, Stiles whispered, "That wasn't your fault."

"I allowed myself to be seduced by her. I bought her into our home. I honestly believed that was the reason for my wolf picking a male mate. But the Omega explained that the true werewolf pairing doesn't see gender, it sees only … other things."

"Other things?" Stiles asked, as much a martyr to curiosity as a bored cat.

Derek moved to sit on the couch to the left of Stiles, perching on the edge of the seat, leaving just a slither of space between them. Stiles wondered if he had deliberately chosen to sit so that his stance was neither subservient nor superior to Stiles. Or perhaps it was just so they didn't have to make eye contact.

"I didn't want this," Derek was saying, miserably. "I made a decision, after Laura's death, that I would cut myself off; be a pack-less lone wolf, and hopefully I wouldn't survive long. A stronger wolf, or a hunter, would have their one good day.

"Then Scott was bitten and my wolf felt somehow responsible. Now I am an Alpha and I am driven to form a pack. My future is decided for me. But you, Stiles, you shouldn't have to be mixed up in this.

"I have been compelled to watch you, to keep you safe, because my wolf has found its true pairing in you. I know you cannot reciprocate and it would be wrong of me to ask that of you. So I know I have to deny my wolf. I wish this could be different but it is what it is.

"I will leave Beacon Hills with my pack. I will ensure Scott has a way to contact me in case he ever needs help, but I have no doubt in your ability to keep him safe. Unless you need my help, you will not hear from me again."

Derek's head dropped down, and his shoulders slumped forward, and Stiles thought he heard a faint growl.

"Oh-kaaay! Let's see if I've understood this," Stiles murmured, more for his own benefit. "Your wolf wants to, um, 'bond' with me, a non-wolf. You don't want that …"

"No," Derek turned his head to look at Stiles, "I never said I didn't want to bond, to have you as my mate." – Stiles may have squeaked, '_mate_?' at this point – "I do, and that's the problem." Derek looked down again.

Stiles stared at the wolf for a few moments, dissecting, analysing and reformulating everything he had said.

"So," Stiles began, curtly, "your wolf wants to ma… um, bond with me, you agree, but, what? You don't think it's a good the idea?"

Derek nodded briefly but did not look up.

"I get that," Stiles said flatly, "I'm a mere human, for one thing. Weak; slow; ADHD; standard issue eyesight; only a rudimentary sense of smell; no superpowers, yada, yada. Yeah, why would anyone want to hang out with a liability like me?

"Plus, you're not gay, and I haven't a fucking clue what I am because, hey, inexperienced teenager here! That's a whole season of Dr Phil, right there." Stiles grumbled, his right hand gesturing airily.

"But you know what, Derek? I didn't need to know any of this. You could have just disappeared into the mist and not bothered telling me what a poor match I would be for your wolf. How your wolf picking me for its prom date, or whatever, is so abhorrent to you. How associating with me would destroy your reputation and make you look weak. How you have standards that I can't hope to measure up to.

"I don't need that shit from you because I get plenty of that from the humans I disappoint every day. So, do me a favour, Derek, take your wolf-centric chauvinism and stick it!"

Stiles stood up, placing an unsteady foot in front of him, needing to get out of the suddenly airless room.

Then he was aware that Derek was standing too, grabbing his arms and pulling him round to face him. He shook his arms angrily until Derek let go and stepped away.

"You have got it wrong," Derek said quietly, "That isn't what I meant."

"No? Yet it's what you said. Fuck off, Derek." Stiles wrapped his arms around his upper body, possibly to keep them still, certainly not because he needed a hug, even if only from himself.

"I'll go, but not before I've explained. If I was prejudiced against wolf-human bonds, it was only because I didn't know such pairings were possible, and because I didn't understand why I was drawn to you. My reticence was that I thought _I_ was weak, not you.

"Because I've seen you, Stiles. My wolf has seen who you are and what you're capable of. I was watching when Scott attacked you, the night of his first full moon. He could have killed you. But you stopped him and not only continued to be his friend, but you helped him to understand and control what was happening to him.

"When you thought I was a mass murderer, it didn't stop you from coming out to my house to dig up a grave, or risk your father's wrath, and mine, to talk to me in the back of the police cruiser. I smelt your fear, but you talked with me anyway."

"You were in custody. Couldn't hurt me," Stiles said defensively, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"And when Kate shot me, you were willing to cut my arm off to save me," Derek said, something like awe in his voice. "My wolf marvelled at that. _I _marvelled at that."

"Um, don't think you were giving me much choice," Stiles muttered.

"I saw you rig Scott up to a heart rate monitor. You worked out about his triggers to keep him, and others, safe. I saw your quick wits, not your ADHD.

"I see your confidence too, Stiles. Even though you know how dangerous I could be, and I can smell your fear, you constantly goad me. I haven't forgotten the 'sour wolf' comment, or you making 'Miguel' try your clothes on in front of the techie guy."

Stiles shrugged, blushing unaccountably. "Yeah, well, I'm obviously not that bright. Just call me 'Twinkle'."

"No, your neighbour's dog goads because it is stupid. You have a sharp mind and more courage than most. And, as I remember, you did get the guy to help."

"Pretty sure that was all your doing," Stiles grinned, despite himself.

A fledgling smirk on Derek's lips took flight as he continued, "Then, that night at the school, when the Alpha attacked me and I was lying there trying to heal, I heard you, Stiles, scented your fear. I know it was you that came out to get the bolt-cutters to secure the door, not Scott with his extra speed and new fighting skills. I heard you as you tried to elude and trap the Alpha. I heard you point out weak spots to the others – like the windows – or suggest escape routes.

"You have a strong sense of justice, too. When Scott blamed me for killing the janitor and for the other murders, I heard the disapproval in your voice when you spoke to him, even though you thought I was dead.

"You refused to call your father to the school to help you because you didn't want to put him at risk. Your loyalty, intelligence, tenacity, courage, integrity – I heard it all before the police sirens forced me to leave.

"You let me hide out in your bedroom, even though if your father had found out it would have ruined your relationship with him. And the game your father came to see when you should have played first line? You knew you would miss that even before Peter intervened."

Daring to glance up at the Alpha, Stiles said quietly, "It's just that saving people from Alpha werewolves is higher on my priority list than a lacrosse game."

Derek held his gaze, his eyes purely human now, as he murmured, "My wolf feels a connection to you. He is the one who wants to protect you. But I'm not here for my wolf."

"Why are you here then?"

"To tell you what I had learnt from the Omega and that I was leaving because of that. To tell you that, no, it didn't have to be a wolf."

Derek's eyes flashed brilliant red for half a second, then he slowly turned towards the door.

"Why?" Stiles asked sadly, "Why, if your wolf wants me as a mate, and you both think I'm all kinds of awesome, why don't _you_ want me?"

Derek turned back, a confused look on his face. "I do. I thought you understood that."

"No. You're leaving." It was an accusation.

"I can't stay. I can't be near you and not claim you as my mate."

Stiles' brow furrowed, and he hitched his shoulders and spread his hands to indicate that he hadn't followed Derek's logic.

Stepping back into Stiles' personal space, Derek murmured, "I tried. The night before your history test. I thought I could ignore my feelings. Offer you friendship. Keep you away from all this. I never knew that studying for a test could be so … enjoyable." Derek ran the back of his index finger gently down Stiles' cheek.

Stiles felt himself shiver, although he couldn't tell if he'd externalised the tremor because it felt like the inside of his bones had rippled.

"You really liked it when we hung out?" he asked, knowing he probably sounded like a five-year-old but _needing_ to hear Derek's answer.

The corners of Derek's mouth creased. "I will always treasure my memories of that evening."

"We can do it again. There's an Econ assignment coming up …"

"I can't Stiles. I'm not strong enough to be near you and not want more than you can give."

"I can give more," Stiles snapped, his enthusiasm shot through with petulance.

"This isn't a game. You don't know what I would be asking of you."

"You think I don't have a pretty good idea?" Stiles asked, sounding astounded and insulted in equal measure. "You know how good I am at research. Yeah, I missed the special human/wolf bonding balance-y thing, but then, guess I'm not the only one outta the loop on that. But the rest? Mating? Pairing for life? Pack dynamics? Yeah, I'd get 100% on that test, anytime."

"Dammit, Stiles, this isn't a school assignment you can study for and then move on to something else. This is …"

"For life. Yeah, got that."

Derek tipped his head, breaking eye contact, as he whispered, "Stiles, you're too young to make decisions like this. Trust me, I know."

Stiles took in a sharp breath and the Alpha snapped his head up to see Stiles' alarmed expression, which softened as their eyes met.

"You were younger," Stiles whispered, "when Kate … You're not her. This isn't the same."

Derek closed his eyes. "Yes, I was younger. But, for this … for this you should be older. You know that."

Stiles risked placing the flat of his hand against Derek's chest and was rewarded when dark lashes lifted and questioning eyes, deep, beautiful eyes, stared back.

Stiles suddenly realised that when he was close to Derek, his arms didn't fly around everywhere, and he felt calmer, more focused. Hey! Derek was walking Adderall without the side effects. Well, no, he had side effects. But they were of an altogether more pleasurable kind.

Realising that he'd been staring, lost in his own thoughts, he shook his head and grinned.

"You're right, Derek, I'm not old enough." Did he imagine a flicker of pain across the Alpha's face? "But, you know the good thing about time? Werewolves, hunters and natural disasters permitting, I'll grow older!"

And then Stiles did something that he would have sworn he would never, ever, do. Not ever. But somehow he couldn't help himself; he needed to do this. He leant up and pressed a kiss to Derek's lips.

As he drew back, his hand dropping away to his side, he saw red flash in the other's eyes as they narrowed menacingly.

"Um, okay, not cool, not cool, sorry. My bad. Forget it."

He went to step back but strong hands suddenly snapped around his biceps and yanked him flush to Derek's chest. The growl he heard rumbling there sent a searing blast-wave to his groin. The butterfly/hippos in his stomach tumbled and rolled with choreographed precision, as Stiles embraced the feeling; rejoiced in it.

And then Derek's lips were on his again.

Stiles' eyes were wide with surprise, but he saw Derek's flutter shut, so he pressed home his advantage, pushing his body forward and forcing his tongue into Derek's mouth. Now Derek's growl was a groan, his hands falling away, as if they were unsure whether to pull or push. Stiles made the decision for him and snaked his own hand round into the small of the Alpha's back while his other cradled Derek's head to encourage the pressure of the kiss.

For the briefest moment, Stiles wondered the wisdom of forcing himself on an Alpha werewolf, but then Derek was sucking on his tongue, teasing it, welcoming it into his mouth, and every damn thing in the world made sense.

When they finally parted, Stiles was panting and very aware that he was pressing the evidence of his arousal hard against the Alpha. But he was a hormonal teenager. What was Derek's excuse? Stiles smiled broadly.

"You know what, Mr Sour Wolf?" Stiles said quietly. "I would be proud to call you mate. If you – and your wolf – would have me? I mean, we don't have to sign anything binding yet, right?"

Derek chuckled and Stiles liked the sound, resolving to make Derek laugh more – but only when it was just the two of them alone.

"No, we never have to sign anything …"

"What, no lycan civil ceremony? Werewolves need to move with the times, man."

Derek smiled and Stiles felt light enough to float away.

"I know you know that, Stiles. But," suddenly Derek looked serious and Stiles crashed back to earth, "but, if I stay, it has to be for more than …"

"A crush? A teenage confusion of lust with love?" and for a moment Stiles wanted to run. Or fall at the Alpha's feet and beg. "Derek, I can't promise you anything other than honesty. I don't want to base the rest of my life on the few hours spent with you revising for my history test one evening three weeks ago. But this is more than that. I may be inexperienced, but I'm not senseless."

Heartened that Derek was looking enquiringly now, hopefully, maybe, Stiles whispered, "Stay?" It was probably a question, but it could have been a command.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Stiles used his lips, his tongue and the full length of his body to convey his reply. Pressing into Derek, feeling him respond, he knew he had won his argument. Derek was staying. For him. And he knew that he would do anything for his Alpha; that they would bond, one day, as the wolf demanded and he desired.

Breaking his kiss, Stiles smiled brazenly at the Alpha. His Alpha. "D'you wanna come up to my room and, um, try on some shirts? You know, for old times' sake?"

Stiles didn't wait for Derek to verbalise the look in his eyes, as he began pulling the Alpha towards the stairs.

"Oh, and your question?" Derek murmured.

"My question?" Through his euphoria, Stiles was struggling to remember anything but the feel of Derek.

"Earlier," Derek smirked, "The answer is 'yes'. Only you, Stiles. It has to be you." 


	2. EPILOGUE

**Does It Have To Be Me?**

**Epilogue**

Scott knew Allison was right, she always is, and he knew he should be feeling all kinds of guilty right now.

But in his defence, he was a teenager, with his first proper girlfriend, dealing with the whole 'I'm a werewolf' crapfest, all on top of the responsibilities of being co-captain of the lacrosse team. So it wasn't totally his fault that he'd let his best buddy duties slip a bit.

He'd seen Stiles at school every day, of course. Chatted with him at lunch. Had had two detentions with him in the last three weeks. But, if he thought about it, the only opportunity they had had to really talk recently was in the locker room after the last game, and Scott knew he'd been a little distracted then; he'd kept checking the time because he'd been meeting up with Allison later.

So when Allison said she was spending the evening with Lydia and shouldn't he make an effort to go see how Stiles was doing, he only briefly complained.

Allison had said that she thought Stiles hadn't been himself recently and suggested that he was probably missing his best friend. Scott hadn't noticed, but he did have a vague impression that Stiles had been a bit … well, distant of late. Scott was pretty sure he'd asked him if anything was up, just in passing, as you do, and he didn't remember Stiles saying that something was bothering him. And he'd remember that, wouldn't he? Probably. Yeah, Stiles didn't mention anything being wrong. Although Stiles could be funny like that, not sharing stuff.

Well, tonight Scott was going to enjoy an evening with his friend like they used to do before all this werewolf shit turned their lives into some sort of teen TV drama/horror series. 

Climbing up onto the Stilinski residence roof with consummate ease, Scott approached the open window of his best friend's bedroom.

All at once, several things assailed Scott's heightened senses with such ferocity and strength that he nearly lost his footing. He crouched low to the shingles, breathing deeply, his mouth slightly open, listening intently, absorbing the scents and sounds assaulting him. Confusion clouded his brain, and he wanted to shake his head fiercely to clear it, but that risked sending him tumbling into Mr Shelby's yard, with that ankle-nipping demon disguised as a Scottie dog (no relation).

The temptation to wolf-out was almost overwhelming, as Scott tried to concentrate, so he could separate out what he was smelling and hearing.

The first scent he detected, unsurprisingly, was the unique eau-de-Stiles which he would know anywhere and was familiar and reassuring. Except it had a tang to it just now; the sort of musky tang that Scott associated with, um, jerking off. So, okay, ew! But this wasn't the first time Scott had accidently interrupted Stiles enjoying a little 'me time', or vice versa.

It wasn't an overpowering aroma yet, so, you know, just getting started, but he could wait. Just sit here a few. Give his bud a bit of space, some personal time. No problem.

Except there was another odour emanating from his friend's room; a scent which should have faded by now, because Derek was no longer on the lam and hiding out here, but which was actually strong and fresh. Recent. As in, today. Huh? As in, now.

But the truly disturbing aspect of this unexpected olfactory encounter was that this too had that pungent, tangy top-note of … arousal.

Scott tried to process this. Stiles. Jizz. Derek. Arousal. No! No, no, no. His nose was mistaken. Maybe he was coming down with a head cold? Or a virulent type of flu that messed with one's nasal faculties, and, he hoped, one's short-term memory.

Clutching his nose theory, so to speak, he tentatively turned his attention to his ears. Then wished he hadn't.

Two hearts beating, at a speed that, outside of training for the Pentathlon, couldn't really be anything else but … what it was.

"Shall I let you finish what you started, Mr Sour Wolf?" came Stiles voice, but in a husky tone that Scott had never heard from his friend before, and prayed to all that's holy that he never had to hear again.

Derek's somewhat muffled voice wafted from the window, "Fuck yes, please, yes, Stiles!"

_'Fuck no, please, no!'_ Scott's inner voice protested, even as he heard Stiles' raspy reply of, "Permission granted. And later if you're good … I may have to punish you."

The sounds that followed weren't verbal but Scott doubted there was any vocabulary, in any language, which could convey _that_ imagery quite as well as the noise currently besetting his temporal lobe.

At that moment, he wished with all his might that he was as deaf to this indecent cacophony as the Powers That Be had been to his silent prayer. He couldn't imagine what he could have done to piss them off so royally that could even remotely justify this sort of trauma-inducing retribution.

Perhaps, if Scott's brains hadn't dribbled out of his ears desperately trying to avoid identifying unseemly smells and sounds, he might have had enough presence of mind to throw himself on the mercy of the black Scottie. Instead, he found himself sneaking up to peer through the open bedroom window.

The first thing Scott noticed was a white dress shirt, possibly belonging to Sheriff Stilinski (although probably, hopefully, no longer) draped over the desk chair. The dark patch under the chair confirmed his suspicion that the shirt was dripping wet and was soaking the carpet beneath it.

Shirts seemed to be a bit of a theme; his best friend was shirtless and Derek was wearing a blue and orange hooped tee that was at least two sizes too small … oh! Scott recognised it; the shirt belonged to Stiles.

At this point, Scott became insanely grateful for the sopping wet shirt over the back of the chair because it meant his view of the bed was restricted. Although, sadly, what little he could see was more than adequate to enable his errant mind to fill in the blanks.

As well as his shirt, Stiles also appeared to have lost his pants and underwear. He was on his bed, lounging back on pillows, his feet on the floor, legs apart and pressed against either side of a kneeling werewolf. Derek was leaning over the lower half of his friend and, whilst he definitely had Stiles shirt on, the angle of the chair did not prevent Scott from a, frankly, stunning view of Derek's well-defined, but distinctly unclad, butt.

It took a moment for Scott to realise that his friend's hand was on Derek's head, fingers threaded through damp hair, and that he seemed to be providing, um, guidance and encouragement to Derek in his ... endeavours.

Scott fled.

In the brief interlude between tripping himself up in his haste to get off the roof and feeling tiny teeth clamp down on his shin, Scott heard Stiles ask, "Is he gone yet?" to which Derek replied, "Yeah, he's gone to play with Twinkle."

Scott really hoped that the saliva of Scottie dogs was laced with a lethal level of wolfsbane.

~ FIN ~

A/N: Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed this. Big sloppy wolf kisses to all who took the time to review. Cheers m'dears!


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